


The Round-Tower of My Heart

by tungstenpincenez



Series: The Green that Never Dies [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF!Mrs.Hudson, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Dynamics, Family Issues, Family Secrets, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 18:16:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11385705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tungstenpincenez/pseuds/tungstenpincenez
Summary: Mrs. Hudson and Mummy's friendship develops over the years as a result of both loving a troublesome boy with curly hair and a prickly demeanour.





	The Round-Tower of My Heart

It all began the day after Sherlock moved in.

Mrs. Hudson had found a couple, similar in age to herself, upon her doorstep. One look at the woman’s smile and the twinkle in the man’s eyes and she knew.

“You must be Sherlock’s parents! Please, come in! His rooms are still a mess, but I’m sure he’ll sort everything soon.”

Mr. Holmes had looked startled at her deduction. Mrs. Holmes had given a warm, brilliant smile. The women were instant friends.

“Begging your pardon for showing up like this, Mrs. Hudson, but the boy’s previous place was a nightmare, and we were anxious to see how he’s faring.”

“Of course! Go right up! I’ll bring the tea things.”

As she prepared tea, she heard Sherlock’s outrage and the slamming of the bedroom door. She pursed her lips.

When she peered into the sitting room, alerting with her “ _Hoo-hoo_ ”, she found Mrs. Holmes attempting to tidy objects and stacks shrewn about and tutting at the disarray. Mr. Holmes was rearranging the books on the shelves but quickly stepped forward to relieve her of her tray. 

They clustered around the coffee table and exchanged pleasantries. Mrs. Holmes—Matilda, she insisted, for “that boy will be a right handful, Mrs. Hudson… of course, Martha”—fussed over Sherlock’s tea but gratefully passed it over when Mrs. Hudson firmly stated that she’d make sure to flush the boy out.

She did. With a few, well-chosen words. She had not managed a difficult husband and his lot of unruly boys with mere sweetness of temper and plates of biscuits after all.

A sulky but obedient Sherlock had huffed into the spot beside his father and grudgingly sipped his tea as his parents and landlady caught up on his news and recounted all his bothersome habits.

When she finally saw them to the door, Mrs. Hudson and Mrs. Holmes had arranged the first of what would become quarterly meetings over tea.

***

They were seated into the tearoom of Claridge’s by a pleasant and solicitous young man.

Mrs. Hudson reported on how Sherlock was settling in, the irregular hours he kept, the odd objects she was finding around the kitchen in the most unlikely places—the butter dish!—and Mycroft’s occasional visits.

“They are so different, your two boys, yet so similar. How did you manage them?”

Mrs. Holmes smiled. “They were quite independent as children—found their own amusements. Things only got problematic after Sherlock started school. Mycroft fared better but Sherlock was constantly in trouble. We’d always encouraged them to be open about their thoughts and observations of what they noticed about the world around them, but apparently, the teachers felt manners were more important than truth.” She shook her head. “I would have happily continued to teach them at home, but my husband felt they needed to learn social skills if they were to survive university life and become ‘productive members of society’. I agreed, but perhaps we should have found a better means of transition for them…”

“Some life lessons can only be learned under difficult circumstances. My husband’s… business in America was riddled with conflicts with competitors. The boys who worked for him quickly learned how to fight dirty. And, oh, the brawls they would get into! I don’t know how many boxes of bandages I went through!”

Mrs. Holmes chuckled and shared some of Sherlock’s adventures that resulted in scrapes and burns. “That boy nearly set his bedsheets on fire fiddling with the chemistry set he got for his birthday from my brother—” A shadow fell across her face, but she quickly put on the nonchalant face her son often donned when he didn’t want to discuss something. She went on to tell a funny tale of how Mycroft and Sherlock had attempted to go fishing with their father but only managed to tip over the boat.

Mrs. Hudson made note to ask at a later date about the fire that had so affected the family’s lives. She had seen something akin to terror in Mycroft’s eyes when, during one of his visits, the toes that Sherlock had been microwaving had caused the appliance to explode. 

“Do you still keep in touch with any of those boys who used to work for your husband?”

Mrs. Hudson sighed. “No. They moved on after the business closed. And you know how boys are: if you don’t force them to call or write, it’s as though they never existed. I’ll occasionally hear from their wives, and the girls are generally quite good at catching me up on some of the others.”

Mrs. Holmes nodded and sniffed. “I’m still the one who has to initiate the calls, but they know better than to miss Christmas dinner.”

“Well, I’ll make sure Sherlock even remembers to bring proper gifts this year.”

Mrs. Holmes laughed. “That boy is so lucky to have you to look after him, my dear.”

***

They alternated between Claridge’s and The Savoy.

As time passed, they shared more stories. And confided about personal tragedies: Mrs. Hudson’s one and only son who died in a car crash at age 17 (she had got rid of the other pregnancies because a drug cartel was no place to raise children), Eurus being taken away and later dying in that horrid fire (Mrs. Holmes was adamant that the suspicion that she’d set the fire was utterly ridiculous), Sherlock’s disappearance for six months before Mycroft located him (the boy never said, but Matilda knew that drugs had been involved—she had gone to university herself).

Today, Mrs. Holmes seemed uncharacteristically subdued. They’d been sitting for a half-hour and not once had she initiated any conversation. She listened to news about her son but barely reacted to any of the incidents that, normally, would have elicited at least a cluck of outrage or a raised eyebrow (her eldest had surpassed her in mastering that technique—not that Mrs. Hudson would ever tell, of course). 

Finally, Mrs. Holmes sighed and said, after ensuring no one could overhear, “Have you… noticed anything… special about the relationship between Mycroft and Sherlock?”

Mrs. Hudson frowned. “Do you mean are they fighting? I don’t think so. Sherlock never stops complaining about his brother, of course, but the comments haven’t been more caustic than usual. I think he only knows how to show his affection through sarcasm.”

Mrs. Holmes smiled wanly at this. “No, I mean… I’ve suspected for some time, but I don’t know if I…” She took a deep breath and then looked directly at Mrs. Hudson. “I think my boys are lovers as well as brothers.”

Mrs. Hudson covered her mouth. Her brows drew together in thought. Finally, she nodded. 

Mrs. Holmes gave a relieved sigh. Then she cocked her head. “You really _have_ seen a lot of life, especially while you were in America.”

Mrs. Hudson nodded sadly. “Does your husband suspect?”

“Oh heavens, no! And he would probably threaten to disown them if he did. He’s a lovely man, but sometimes he has such shockingly old-fashioned ideas.”

“Frank could never accept that any of his boys could like other boys. I was always tempted to tell him that his business partner’s personal assistant was actually his boyfriend. I probably would have if Sherlock hadn’t gotten rid of him.”

“Do you… do you think they’re happy?”

Mrs. Hudson patted her hand reassuringly. “I’m sure they are. There isn’t anyone else who could understand them as well. They’ve been very careful, and I’m sure if we didn’t care so much about them, we’d never have noticed. I’ll make sure to talk to Sherlock if he ever gets careless. And don’t worry, John doesn’t suspect either.”

Mrs. Holmes finally smiled and sipped her tea.

***

The phone rang.

“Hello?”

There was hysterical sobbing and garbled words at the other end of the line.

“What has that boy done? Oh, my dear! You can be sure he’ll get a—what do you mean… I’m coming for you now, Mattie. We’ll go someplace quiet and have a good chat. You stay put and tell your husband we’re going out.”

When Mrs. Hudson arrived at the door, she linked arms with Mrs. Holmes and gently led her toward the waiting car. They drove in silence and finally arrived at a small house in the middle of a quiet street.

Mrs. Hudson ushered them inside and unpacked the tea things from the hamper. As she prepared tea, she explained that this was the house she grew up in. She and her sister took turns keeping it tidy. 

As Mrs. Holmes sipped her tea, she recounted the turmoil of the past 24 hours. How she discovered that her daughter was still alive but trapped in an institution, how her brother and then her eldest had lied to them all these years, how Eurus had tried to escape, how she had tried to get her brothers to kill one another, but of course that couldn’t be true. Eurus had always been such a sweet little thing. 

Mrs. Hudson did not interrupt her, knowing that Mrs. Holmes would explode if she didn’t let out all her frustrations. The distraught woman finally succumbed to another bout of sobbing, though she didn’t seem as frantic as she’d sounded over the phone.

Finally, when she wiped away the last tear, Mrs. Hudson squeezed her hand and said, quietly, “Mattie, you know that I’d never lie to you.” Mrs. Holmes nodded in agreement. “And you know that I can always tell when Sherlock lies to me.” Another nod. “I don’t think Mycroft is making up stories to justify your daughter’s imprisonment. She blew up Sherlock’s flat. Mycroft got me out the back door just in time. Sherlock told me what had happened later when they were in hospital for observation.”

Mrs. Holmes let out a scream. 

Mrs. Hudson continued. “I haven’t yet learned all the details of the ordeals those boys went through in Sherrinford, but they are all very shaken by what she did to them. Sherlock spent two evenings at Mycroft’s home—I’m very sure he’s on suicide watch. And that nice Inspector has been checking on all of them.” She sighed. “Mattie, I understand your outrage. I know what Rudy and Mycroft have done is intolerable. And we have all come to expect miracles from Mycroft—keeping his little sister locked up, it hardly seems like he’s trying that hard.” She paused, choosing her words with care. “But have you considered: after being tucked away so long, Eurus doesn’t know how to survive surrounded by people, not all who will have her best interests at heart. She could end up harming herself. This way, at least she’ll stay alive. Whatever his faults, Mycroft has kept her out of harm’s way.”

Mrs. Holmes let out a sob of despair. But she seemed to accept this logic. Mrs. Hudson knew better than to add that Eurus being allowed out of Sherrinford would result in eventually all three siblings dying at her hand. 

When she later learned that the entire family had paid a visit at Sherrinford and witnessed the younger children playing a duet on violin, she could only shake her head. She then placed a call to Mycroft’s assistant, to inform that she’d bought some foodstuff that needed to be stored in Mycroft’s flat.

**Author's Note:**

> I still haven't made my peace with season 4 nor have I forgiven the harsh parental treatment of Mycroft. But this odd and unexpected piece is my attempt to look at the situation from Mummy's POV. 
> 
> I have you fast in my fortress,  
> And will not let you depart,  
> But put you down into the dungeon  
> In the round-tower of my heart.
> 
> And there will I keep you forever,  
> Yes, forever and a day,  
> Till the walls shall crumble to ruin,  
> And moulder in dust away!
> 
> ~Excerpt from “The Children’s Hour” by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow


End file.
